


Broken

by justsomebucky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, Cheesy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Language, Loneliness, bad art commentary, no seriously i don't know anything about art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 09:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14566140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomebucky/pseuds/justsomebucky
Summary: AU. There’s something about a painting that you just can’t shake.





	Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a writing challenge, using the song "Broken" by lovelytheband as a prompt.

Your head tilted to the side a little, as if that would give you a better answer as to what the hell you were looking at.

You were at an exhibition that featured some of your friend Steve Rogers’ art, which was the only reason you even bothered showing up. Steve was a good friend and you were happy to support him even if crowds weren’t your thing.

There were so many people standing around holding overpriced glasses of champagne and rosé, so many people who looked like they fit in even as they walked right past the work of artists they never heard of. Their snobbery was polluting the atmosphere. That’s why you were sort of off by yourself, moving at a slower pace so that you could experience each section as an artist like Steve would have wanted.  

The exhibition, entitled “ _An Emotional Life_ ,” was supposed to represent the spectrum of human emotions, divided into sections which contained hand-selected contributions from several different artists.

You were standing in the section aptly titled ‘ _Confusion_ ,’ staring at something that looked like a Jackson Pollock meets a paint-by-numbers, only _even_ _messier_.

“Totally confusing. Well done,” you muttered, moving down the line to the next section, ‘ _Loneliness_.’

The first few pieces were cliché…an empty room, a single tree in a wheat field…the typical visual representations of the word itself. They didn’t interest you; you knew scenes like that well enough in your daily life as a single person in an overpopulated city.

Loneliness and aloneness didn’t always go hand-in-hand for you, though. Sometimes you relished the solitude, the way that you could go about your free time however you pleased without having to consider someone else as you would in a relationship.

No, there were far worse situations that made you feel lonely.

There were times when you were excited about something but had no one to tell, no one who would listen and try to feel excited for you, too. Going to the airport usually brought a lonely feeling with it, because while everyone else had someone to see them off or greet them upon return, you were always traveling alone. Seeing other people hug goodbye or kiss hello sometimes left you with a pit at the bottom of your stomach.

That was the same feeling the next canvas gave you the second you laid eyes on it.

You could tell right away that it was one of Steve’s. The style was the same (not to mention the SR in the corner), and you were once again blown away by his talent.

The piece, titled _‘(Un)relatable_ ,’ featured a man sitting on a subway car, his elbows resting on his knees with his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was down, but you could still see enough of his face to see he was handsome. He looked uncomfortable at best.

Why?

The people closest to him were turned away from him, one with a look of disgust and one with her own look of discomfort. Others were standing and holding on to the hand rail though there were open seats on either side of the man.

It took you a second to try to figure out why they were avoiding him. Your eyes scanned his face, his hair, his clothing…

That’s when you realized that he had a prosthetic arm. It was metal, but his long sleeve hid most of it well enough. The hand, though…his hand was obvious.

You took a step closer, squinting a little at the man’s features. His expression made your heart ache; it was pretty clear that this was why he looked so uncomfortable. Everyone knew loneliness, but you couldn’t fathom what it must be like to be him knowing that people could be that cruel.

“It’s a _little_ exaggerated, but not as much as you might hope.”

You whirled around at the familiar voice and faced your friend, Steve Rogers, for the first time all night. “This is stunning, Steve. Your work is beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He gave you a smile. “Glad you could make it out. I know this isn’t your thing.”

“That man…who is he?” You turned back to the painting, eyes drawn to his face again.

Steve moved to stand beside you. He put his hands in his pockets with a soft sigh. “That’s my best pal, Bucky. As you can see there, he’s got a prosthesis. Not everyone is kind about it.”

“How did he feel about being a subject for your art?” you asked, side-eyeing Steve. “This seems pretty personal.”

He shrugged. “Buck’s a good guy, he didn’t mind too much. He just told me to not expect him to come see it here.”

Someone shouted for Steve, and he gave you an apologetic look. “Gotta go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Sure,” you agreed, giving him a quick hug.

“Thanks again for coming!” He gave you another smile, then left you standing alone with his art once again.

Your eyes flitted back to the man on the subway.

—

The next few days went by without anything out of the ordinary happening. Work was the same, your home life was the same…the only thing that felt different now was you.

You had to see it again.

For some reason, you couldn’t get _‘(Un)relatable’_ out of your brain. It was such an everyday scene; a subway car full of strangers who weren’t interacting was pretty common in New York. Maybe the discomfort the man felt was common, too.

But his face…there was something about him that was drawing you in and you couldn’t shake him.

You went back to the exhibit four days after opening night, feeling kind of uncertain as to what you expected to find when you saw the painting again.

There were a few college students standing around in front of the ‘ _Loneliness’_ section. They were pointing to a few things in some other pieces, but none of them stayed in front of Steve’s painting for long. That gave you a chance to swoop in and stand in front of it, fully prepared to analyze it further. Maybe a second study would give you the closure you needed to stop thinking about it.

Instead, that ache returned to your chest. It was dumb, but you desperately wanted to step into the painting’s scene and sit beside Bucky. You wanted to glare at everyone around him and make them feel as small and uncomfortable as they had made Bucky feel.

You wanted to be lonely there with him.

The loneliness was seeping from his posture. It dulled his gaze and though laugh lines were painted around his eyes, there was no sign of a smile. Every detail, from the stitched eyebrows to the creases at his mouth, made you want to curl up beside him until he smiled again.

It may only be a painting, but the man in it was real, and he was out there somewhere feeling the same way you felt. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice when a man in a baseball cap moved closer to the painting for a better look.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping out of the way. You were hogging the painting when you should really be getting home. Nothing during this second viewing had changed how you felt about the piece. It might have actually made things worse.

“No problem,” the man said, his voice soft. He didn’t even look at you, and you didn’t get a good glance at him, either.

It was usually interesting to see someone else discover the painting, to see them digest the meaning and the feelings it provoked, but he offered no outward signs. Eventually, the man’s posture deflated, and he turned to leave.

He glanced over at you, eyes widening when he realized you were still standing there. He gave you a nod, then turned and quickly walked back to the exit.

Your heart was racing, though, because you recognized him almost immediately.

Bucky Barnes had shown up after all.

—

The guy at the front desk knew you by name now, that’s how many times you’d bought a ticket for the exhibition that week. That evening was the last time the exhibition would be up and running. They were going to shut it down to make room for a new one tomorrow.

Bucky hadn’t been to see the painting again, at least not while you were there. You began to wonder if you were showing up again and again for the painting or to maybe catch another glimpse of him, which was probably weird.

Okay, it was definitely weird. Bucky probably hadn’t expected to see someone there in front of his painting. He probably hadn’t expected to see someone staring at him when he turned around. If the situations were reversed, it would have made you exit the gallery immediately, too.

Yet there you were again, back in front of the painting.  This time, you wanted to observe other people’s reactions to the art. Maybe it would give you a better sense of how he had felt that day on the subway.

First you saw an elderly couple approach, and the woman almost immediately made a face, tugging on her husband’s arm to get away from the painting of the ‘delinquent.’ How the hell she got that impression from the art, you had no idea, but it pissed you off. Didn’t she see the way the others were treating Bucky? Hadn’t she noticed the look in his eyes before passing judgment?

The next to approach were two teenage girls. “I still would,” the redhead declared with a giggle, as if Bucky’s prosthetic arm was what made his compatibility debatable. Her friend rolled her eyes, though she was laughing too. These girls clearly thought they were worthy of someone like Bucky, though their shallow behavior made your stomach turn a little. A prosthetic arm didn’t make someone less attractive, but their attitudes certainly made them so.

You looked away, staring at the painting until they finally left.

A third person approached in that short amount of time, but you didn’t bother to look up. What was another comment, really? You couldn’t handle more of the same, and it only made you feel worse for Bucky. He had to live this _daily_.

“ _Don’t_.”

Your eyes flickered to your right, where Bucky Barnes was standing again, watching you.

Your anger and disgust from the previous visitors dissipated at the sight of him.

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t pity me,” he answered, nodding once at the painting. “Steve took artistic license with what he remembered from that day.”

“Oh.” You turned back to the painting. “Set the scene for me, then.”

Bucky sighed, shifting his weight on his feet a little, his hands still in his pockets. “We were on our way home. I was standing on the platform waiting for the train, and I forgot myself for a second.”

“Forgot yourself?” Your brows furrowed as you tried to picture it in your head. “What do you mean?”

“I took my hand out of my pocket,” he explained. “They all saw it, and chose not to sit beside me. I guess it’s weird, I don’t know. I don’t usually do that in public because it’s not…it doesn’t look like a real arm. But I liked it better when I had to pick one out.”

“What happened?” You looked over at him again. “Why did you…have to pick it out?”

The corner of his mouth lifted and his blue eyes met yours again. “What happened to my arm, you mean? It’s a long story.”

“Oh,” you said again. For some reason, you weren’t sure what to say to him without weirding him out further.

A stretch of silence passed with the two of you standing together, both unsure of what to say next.

“So anyway,” Bucky spoke up again, “don’t feel bad for me. They might not have been the most pleasant people, but it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.”

He was just about to turn and leave when you finally found the words you wanted to say.

“I don’t,” you countered, turning toward his retreating form. “I don’t feel bad for you, I feel…this is going to sound dumb, but I feel connected in a way. You sit there –” you gestured to the painting “- and you are surrounded by people every day on the subway, but for their own selfish and idiotic reasons, they don’t interact with you. You’re alone in a crowded place.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just turned back to face you with interest on his features now.

You took that as a good sign to continue.

“I might not have the same reasons, but I feel that way all the time.” You looked away, moving closer to the painting. “You feel separated from the rest of the world. The part that hurts the most is your expression, the look in your eyes…Steve couldn’t possibly have made that up, it looks far too real. You look like life has just been beating you down so much that you’re…”

“Broken?” he supplied quietly.

Was that the word you had been looking for?

“Maybe, maybe not. What does that even mean? Who decides the level of loneliness that breaks you?”

“It’s personal.” Bucky shrugged. “I felt a little broken that day.”

“But you were with Steve, obviously. You spent the day with a friend.”

“If you know Steve, then you know what he’s like. Mr. Perfect couldn’t ever relate.”

“I thought loneliness was universal.”

He was about to reply, but a man in a green vest walked over to you both. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the gallery is closing early for a private party. Please finish up your visit.”

As soon as he walked away again, you glanced at Bucky. “I guess that’s it, then.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even catch your name?”

“It’s Y/N,” you supplied, backing away slowly. “Thanks for the chat. I’ll…well maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

Bucky moved in your direction, his hands still tucked in his pockets. “Do you want to, uh…maybe go get some coffee? We could keep debating our misery?”

There was something in his eyes this time, something hopeful, a spark of sweetness that wasn’t reflected in the painting. No, this was something new, something that your company had provoked.

This time, your smile was bright. “I’d like that.”

—

Steve opened his own art gallery later that year. Opening night just happened to fall on the sixth-month anniversary of your first coffee date with Bucky Barnes, so the two of you were going to stop by and show your support before going out to dinner.

When he spotted you, Steve made his way over to give you both a hug, then led you to his newest piece that was the center of this latest exhibition.

It was called _‘(Un)broken’_ and it was your debut as a subject in a painting. In it, you and Bucky were sitting on the subway together, your arm entwined with his while you smiled at each other.

You already loved it.

Steve had given you the original painting of Bucky, the one that had brought the two of you together, as an anniversary gift, but he informed you first thing that he was keeping this new one to ‘brighten up his gallery.’

“What do you think?” Steve asked, unable to hide his smile as he watched you both for reactions.

“It’s amazing,” you told him sincerely, eyes bright. “Do I really look like that?”

“Happy?” Bucky asked. “Beautiful? Like you’re in love? Yes to all three.”

“Good.” You gave a nod at the painting, then looked back to Steve. “It’s amazing _and_ accurate.”

Steve chuckled. “Glad you like it. What about you, Buck?”

“What’s not to like?” Bucky had a small smile on his face as he took in all the painting’s details. “It’s a vast improvement on the last one.”

“The painting or the subject?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I happen to love both paintings _and_ their subject.”

Bucky’s smile widened as he looked at you, his blue eyes searching yours for a second.

You held his gaze, grinning when you felt his metallic hand reach for yours, intertwine your fingers, and give your hand a little squeeze.

“I love you, too,” he said simply.


End file.
